


Old Acquaintances II - Valmin/Acharin Crimsonwing

by Hedonick



Series: Battle for Azeroth: Biographies [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Discrimination, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Gore, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedonick/pseuds/Hedonick
Summary: “There is a saying among us demon hunters: if a memory of the past starts haunting you, you either kill it, if it attacks you, or you ignore it and move on – otherwise it will soon become your demise.”Acharin Crimsonwing is getting haunted by such a ghost, back from the days when he hadn't yet known how demon meat tastes. Her name is Levaindil Autumnleaf, but will she really prove as fatal an acquaintance as the Illidari saying implies?
Series: Battle for Azeroth: Biographies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972672
Kudos: 2





	Old Acquaintances II - Valmin/Acharin Crimsonwing

Valmin Crimsonwing was born as the youngest son of a high elf cloth trader in the middle of an extraordinarily peaceful period of time in Quel’Thalas. From his earliest years onward his path always seemed to be set in stone; his good grades in school ensured that there was no problem with him joining the prosperous family enterprise that was ruled with an iron fist by his father and looked into a bright and stable future.   
As it was common practice with the wealthier families of Silvermoon, Valmin was trained in various close combat techniques, making him an at least decent sword-fighter and ready to join the militia for the defense of the kingdom in case of an emergency.

Contrary to expectations, this emergency actually arrived during the Third War, when the Scourge marched through Quel’Thalas in order to reach the Sunwell on the Isle of Quel’Danas. All fighting forces of the kingdom combined weren’t enough to put a stop to the advance of the undead, which made the need arise for the citizens able to wield arms to join the fighting.   
Valmin was part of a group of conscripts that was recruited by a company of farstriders and got deployed in various hot spots for the duration of the whole war, earning him the favorable attention even of veterans among the elite group.

After the unpreventable destruction of the Sunwell he joined – likewise on behalf of his family – the volunteers helping with the reconstruction of Silvermoon City. On this occasion he met with Levaindil Autumnleaf again, a member of the farstriders he’d fought with against the Scourge. They collaborated extraordinarily well over the following weeks, also exchanging their experience with trade, since Levaindil’s family – though she herself wasn’t involved much anymore – owned a small business breeding hawkstriders. This unexpected friendship was a much welcome diversion from the hardships after the defeat suffered.   
A second happy occurrence was the return of Prince Kael’thas who had been long absent from the city because of his studies in Dalaran. Present in the thick of the action, Valmin noticed the Prince’s discovery regarding the tainted remains of the Sunwell and its threat to their people as well as the remaining threat of the Scourge to the hard hit kingdom, convincing him to join the personal army of Kael’thas – the Sunfury – and to keep on fighting for the good of all sin’dorei, as they now called themselves.

First fighting alongside the remnants of Alliance forces battling the Scourge in Lordaeron, but then betrayed by a human Grand Marshal and only able to escape with the help of Lady Vashj and her naga forces, Valmin and the Sunfury under Kael’thas Sunstrider ended up in Outland. Here they allied with Illidan Stormrage who allegedly worked with the Burning Legion but in truth planned to destroy the demon forces through the knowledge gained thereby. For their support he promised them a solution to the arcane hunger consuming the whole blood elf race triggered by the sudden absence of the powerful Sunwell that had infused them for millennia.

The longer the Sunfury worked hand in hand with Illidan and Prince Kael’thas’ behavior grew increasingly disconcerting under the strain of looming disappointment to his people, the more Valmin felt drawn to the charismatic, unwavering Lord of Outland, who always seemed to know what had to be done where next, unmoved by temporary failures.   
When Illidan Stormrage returned to Outland after an unsuccessful attempt to take down the Lich King’s champion Arthas Menethil in Northrend and began to prepare his forces in the Black Temple against Kil’jaeden’s retaliation, Valmin applied to become part of the stern kaldorei’s elite force in the fight against the Burning Legion and for the pursued destruction of its base of operations; Argus.

The initiation rite almost got him killed – nothing unusual – but eventually his body adjusted to the fel-powers that infused him after the ingestion of the demon’s heart and blood. Accompanying his earning of the arcane tattoos that would from now on help to prevent his inner demon from overwhelming him, he choose a new name fitting his ascent as a demon hunter, drawing on his native language as a high elf where achar stands for revenge.   
Following the intended revenge against the Burning Legion for their destruction of myriad worlds, Acharin successfully completed several missions to distant worlds against the demon forces, also increasing the control over his new powers in the process. These undertakings alongside his fellow Illidari – as the demon hunters called themselves – lasted multiple years influenced by the time paradox in the twisting nether, albeit only a few months passed in Outland and Azeroth.

One day Acharin and a large group of other demon hunters were ordered by Lord Illidan to retrieve an extremely powerful artifact that could open portals to demon worlds – like Argus – and therefore traveled to the planet Mardum.   
Although they were successful, when they returned, their Master had been killed atop the Black Temple by a group of champions from Azeroth who were used by Kil’jaeden without their knowledge. Acharin and the others instantly attacked the Wardens that where about to take away Illidan Stormrage’s body and with it his undying demon soul, but much to their humiliation they were – weary from their preceding mission – defeated and in the end imprisoned alongside their Lord and Master in the Vault of the Wardens, a high-security facility belonging to the elite group of night elves fighting against the greatest threats to the world.

Six years later, their imprisonment came to an unexpected end, when alternate Gul’Dan assaulted the Vault to get possession of Illidan’s corpse. Overwhelmed by the demon forces brought by the warlock, the Wardens freed Acharin and the other Illidari to help with the defense of the facility. Disoriented and still awkward from the long incapacitation, they managed to throw back the assailants, but not before Gul’Dan escaped with his prize.

Realizing that their archenemies assaulted their home world, the Illidari choose the Fel Hammer in Mardum – still untouched since its capture years ago – as their base of operation. The abandoned Legion ship was well equipped for the task ahead and it was from there that they were able to make a one-time contact with Lord Illidan’s soul in the Twisting Nether, that had by now been separated from his body, and to receive further instructions.   
It showed that on one hand, to reseal the breach by which the Legion entered this world, they had to recover multiple parts belonging to an artifact known as the Pillars of Creation, scattered across the Broken Isles and on the other hand, Illidan’s body and soul had to be reclaimed and restored. Of course they received assistance by the Horde and the Alliance both, but those still were no easy tasks.

Among the fighters of the two factions working with them, to his surprise Acharin recognized someone: Levaindil Autumnleaf, the extraordinary farstrider he once became acquainted with. But she and his memory of her belonged to his old live, the one he had left behind once and for all with the first bite of demon flesh.   
Most Illidari agreed that it was dangerous to dwell on the past and the things once dear to you. Those reminders of a life you abandoned with your turning tended to make yourself vulnerable to attacks by the demonic powers bound within you that were only waiting for a moment of weak will or self-doubt. Admittedly, he had never belonged to the most strong-willed demon hunters – unlike their Master – who dominated their powers effortlessly; and thus a reunion with her was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. Last but not least this simply wasn’t the right time; their Master had been abducted and the Burning Legion was about to take over Azeroth – they had to fight! From time to time he still wondered…

In the end they were successful, more than that. After Illidan Stormrage was restored atop the Nighthold in Suramar and the Tomb of Sargeras was sealed, the Lord of the Illidari brilliantly initiated the plan to finally use the recovered artifact from Mardum and travel to Argus. Alongside the Armies of Legionfall and the joining up Army of the Light, the Illidari were able to assault Sargeras’ seat of power – Antorus, the Burning Throne – and to restore the titan Pantheon to its power, who then imprisoned the Lord of the Burning Legion.  
The sovereign monumentality of this achievement was only dampened by the loss of Illidan Stormrage, who decided to stay at the Seat of the Pantheon and to become the eternal jailer for Sargeras’ prison.  
Acharin and many other demon hunters were taken by surprise and were rather crestfallen by the sudden parting with their Master, but luckily the leaderships of Azeroth’s forces were absolutely willing to take in the fighters that had more than proven their value. After some discussion among themselves it was decided that they wouldn’t stay together as a unit but instead split between the Horde and the Alliance according to their individual race.

In the weeks after his official affiliation with the Horde, Acharin worked hard to attract the notice of his new leader, the Horde’s Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner, and to rise into the ranks of her most appreciated champions – the position he was used to from working under not only Illidan Stormrage but also Kael’thas Sunstrider.   
He wasn’t the only Illidari doing so and he and his companions soon had the reputation within Orgrimmar to belong to the Dark Lady’s most faithful subordinates. This brought some troubles for Acharin and the others after the burning of Teldrassil.

On the second evening after the tragic incident, he and the other demon hunters were playing some Hearthstone at the Wyvern’s Tail in the Valley of Honor when a heated debate started at the next table.   
While waiting for his turn Acharin involuntarily eavesdropped on the speakers and soon learned about the source of the discord; not all of the group of regulars believed in the rumor that Sylvanas had planned from the start to burn down the Tree, but the others insisted increasingly vehemently.   
“I tell you, she completely lost her mind!”, one rather drunk tauren just said, starting on a tirade, as one of his troll companions hastily tried to silence him:   
“Shush! Not ‘ere right besides dose bootlickers. Yo’ll be gettin’ yo’self in trouble, mon!” Acharin tried to ignore them, but from this point onward, everything went downhill.   
“Tsk! I’m not surprised they cling to her coat-tails”, an orc said, and two different voices added:   
“Darn half-demons are easily as crazy as that banshee!”   
“She shouldn’t trust them either!”   
That brought both factions back together, “They don’t belong to us!”   
By now Acharin was no longer the only Illidari who had started to listen to the discussion at the neighboring table. Some of the others examined the drunkards openly, a fact that also didn’t escape the notice of the speakers.   
Emboldened by their blood alcohol level, they started to address their accusations and insults directly. The inn keeper already looked very nervous, when Rael’nar Shadowblade, the oldest of them, suggested:   
“Let’s just move on. This game is already as good as done anyways.”   
Acharin promptly nodded in agreement.   
“Shouldn’t we teach them a lesson?”, Shanara Painweaver asked, crossing her arms and leaning back. “That will only make matters worse”, Acharin restrained her, “we can’t start a fight with regulars just because of some conspiracy theories. Besides, by tomorrow they’ll have forgotten everything.”   
“But I won’t”, she commented snappily, but followed them without further resistance.   
Outdoors they considered for a spell where to go next for their rematch, but somehow the mood for a sociable evening had passed and instead they simply split off, dwelling on their own thoughts, since thinking together often brought back too many mutual reminiscences that no one actually desired.

Acharin couldn’t have foreseen that the general atmosphere in the taverns and inns would get even worse some weeks later, after the Battle for Lordaeron, but to his dubious luck he didn’t notice much of it. At first he was absent several days and when he rejoined the other demon hunters they were mostly sticking with their own kind. When he finally reported for duty once more weeks later and was sent to Zuldazar, a lot of new reasons to tattle had come up. 

The reason for his absence and furlough hadn’t been a fun one though; he himself had partaken in the Battle for Lordaeron and insisted to fight at the front only to be surprised by the employment of the Forsaken Blight. Inhaling a heavy dose of the vapor had left him unconscious and presumed dead.   
He hadn’t been recovered till after the fighting was over and he had to be ventilated for days, as the effects of the unnatural toxin couldn’t just be healed. It had probably been the fault of his own zeal, since his original deployment had him intended further back the lines.

To make up for the lost time he’d had to spend recovering, he had passed the last two weeks taking care of the various tasks arising on the insular continents more or less at a stretch and had delayed his trips to the Fel Hammer longer than usual. Yesterday evening, an unexpected additional quest had lead him to cancel his participation in the feeding on a short term and now he had to wait for the next appointment tomorrow morning. In contrast to his usual experience, he had now unfortunately started to actually feel his hunger and the craving for demon flesh had become rather annoying, making sleep a downright impossible task.  
Looking for something to take his thoughts off the feeling that was beginning to drive him to distraction, he roamed the alleys of the lower trade district before starting his ascent to the main building of the troll capital. He eventually ended up at the Royal Armory and gave the training dummies a go, just to assert after a short while that the exercises didn’t help in the slightest. Instead he went outside again and let his gaze wander.   
Thanks to his Spectral Sight the environs of Dazar’alor didn’t look much different than at daytime; poorer in contrast for sure, but he could still see well enough by the reflections of the moon- and starlight. The rich forests reminded him of Quel’Thalas, though the plants and the sounds of the various animals that echoed through the otherwise silent night were foreign. Everything on this new continent was foreign, even the beliefs.   
The trolls cherished some of the strange animals so dearly that they even deified them. Loa, those beasts were called. Acharin hadn’t yet identified what made them that special; to him they simply seemed to be slightly stronger than average, but otherwise normal animals. Some of them seemed to have a person-like consciousness though, but still. The only Loa – and that was no beast – he’d come across in Nazmir and experienced as powerful and hence maybe venerable was the Loa of Graves, Bwonsamdi; that fellow possessed an impressive aura.   
At the thought of auras Acharin suddenly noticed an aura he’d grown familiar with on the Broken Isles, that had been taunting him time and again… and was now standing right behind him.

He turned and was smoothly greeted by the braided huntress, though she clearly hadn’t expected to meet him here at that hour of night. Neither had he, and as usual her presence immediately made him nervous, but their overdue reunion proceeded way better than he had expected. Although he was caught completely off guard when she suddenly started to upbraid him like a child and then jumped at him. Levaindil Autumnleaf had always been a fierce woman but never on edge like today, though that didn’t seem to have much to do with him.   
He immediately regretted his visceral reaction to her attack though; he’d seen the fear that had appeared in her eyes for a brief moment and that had moved their encounter closer to those in his mind he’d wanted to avoid. To his relief he was swiftly able to put her at ease once more by teasing her, and her response simply amazed him, not only because she, the successful farstrider, wanted to be trained by him, but also because this was another demonstration of a skill he’d always admired in her – to quickly identify the source of a problem and to take the initiative. He would gladly assist her.  
He gazed after her until she completely vanished from his sight once she’d bade him good night. After her first – eligible – reproach he’d mentally been waiting for her to ask why he hadn’t come looking for her after Sargeras’ downfall. Luckily she didn’t do so, because the simple truth was… he had been afraid.   
Demon hunters had been tolerated by the people as long as the fight against the Burning Legion was ongoing, but shortly after the distrustful stares and whispers had started anew. Why where they still here? Weren’t they now the last remnants of the Burning Legion, the last demons apart from the tame ones the warlocks controlled? Weren’t they the threat now? It weren’t only the normal citizens that asked these questions – the soldiers were no different and he and his fellow Illidari had become outcasts once more. That they’d stuck close to Sylvanas hadn’t exactly helped either. Still, he could accept that, as long as it didn’t hinder his duties to the Warchief, but the thought of having to feel the same distrust or even disgust from Levaindil would have been something completely different.   
He still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, the whole experience had been so extraordinary he’d even forgotten his cravings… that now naturally returned in full strength. Despite his demanding hunger, an uncommon smile appeared on his lips; at least the sleepless night had now already more than payed off.

Over the course of the coming months, they spent a lot of time together; mostly training melee tactics and techniques, where Levaindil proved her capability once more through fast progress, but also managing some of the daily duties arising in the Empire and exchanging their life stories over a Mojo’ito in one of the inns or at the Grand Bazaar in the evenings.   
It appeared to Acharin as a miracle how easily they fell back into their old harmonic cooperation – as short as it had been, and he remembered that he had already felt similarly back then. There was something more to it than simply the actual time they knew each other, and he had to admit that he was quite relieved this something had survived his transformation into a demon hunter. It was refreshing to have a relaxed chat with someone else than an other Illidari, especially since he and Levaindil thought alike in many things. Not in all things though, surprise! They managed every now and then to end up in a startlingly fierce argument mainly regarding their different attitude towards the Warchief.

Their first major quarrel started after Acharin had cut a caper for which he could have cuffed himself subsequently.   
One evening, an Alliance assault had happened at the time of their training and since they were ready for battle anyways, they had decided to help out the on-duty soldiers. It hadn’t been much of a skirmish, but at one point he and the huntress had found themselves facing off against an elite opponent that actually posed a challenge. Still, from a clinical point of view, it wouldn’t have been necessary for Acharin to use his Metamorphosis since it stood one against two. Up until then he had avoided transforming himself in front Levaindil, but suddenly one part of him had wanted to find out her reaction to his demon form, while the other had well known that this was an unnecessary risk to take, for more than one reason… but he’d still listened to the foolish side. After they had successfully eliminated the Alliance invader, Acharin had maintained his transformation only a little longer, quite pleased with the outcome of his experiment, since Levaindil’s attention on him had mainly been made up of curiosity.   
That curiosity however then also proved fatal since she immediately noticed that something didn’t quite go well when he changed back to his usual appearance. Just this time the strange cramps he had experienced lately a few times already and that were running through his whole body accompanying his transformation occurred once more and he needed a moment to recollect himself after its completion.   
“Are you hurt?”, she asked worried, stepping around the lifeless corpse lying on the floor between them and towards him.   
Hastily, Acharin straightened up fully, suppressing a groan while the last remnants of the pulling feeling faded and he tried to shrug it off: “No, no. I’m fine.”   
“But that’s not normal, right? I’ve seen demon hunters change back to their usual selves before and they didn’t look as if it pained them.”   
Her attentive look flustered him and he reluctantly admitted: “No, it’s not. I’ve already talked to some of the other Illidari, but they’ve never experienced something like it. Maybe it’s just a strange aftereffect from inhaling that Forsaken Blight.” He shrugged: “But for all I know…. Demon-hunter-medicine isn’t exactly a thing – yet, if ever.”

When he had asked Rael’nar and the other Illidari, the elder demon hunter had first suspected something different to be the reason for his troubles with the Metamorphosis. It hadn’t slipped his or Shanara’s attention that Acharin had started to spend a lot of time with the blood elf huntress. When they also had heard that he knew her from his past in Quel’Thalas, they had assumed that she had provoked some regrets in him about becoming a demon hunter which caused the problem. Acharin had been able to persuade them that this hadn’t been the case, but they also hadn’t been able to provide another answer. Shanara had only bantered that he could ask the healer she’d consulted lately after constantly sneezing on one of their missions in Vol’dun. After learning that they had come in contact with void energies there, the healer had told her the sneezing was probably a reaction caused by her own fel powers to those and had dismissed her. Later she had found out by herself that she simply was allergic to some of the desert grasses growing around Atul’Aman and had solved the issue with an easily obtainable alchemical potion.   
Rael’nar – as usual – had thought farther and urged him seriously not to underestimate the matter, accompanied by the well-meant threat that he otherwise wouldn’t hesitate to stop the younger Illidari if he became a danger to others.

“So you were there too, in that battle?! And you even inhaled some of that stuff?!”, Levaindil exclaimed and brought Acharin back to the here and now, “You can count yourself lucky that you are still alive in that case!”   
“Yes, I do. Was a close call though.”   
Hereinafter the huntress made no secret of her distaste for what had happened at the Battle for Lodaeron and grew rather incredulous when he didn’t align himself with her even though he’d almost died.   
Sure, it had been a rather merciless tactic of the Warchief to sacrifice that many of her own soldiers, but sometimes a high price had to be paid to achieve an important victory and the odds for it to work out hadn’t been unlikely until Jaina Proudmoore had appeared out of nowhere. Even if he had known the battle plan he would have followed it obediently. The only thing that bothered him slightly was that he had not been inducted. But still.   
Yet the argument with Levaindil left a shallow taste on Acharin’s tongue, that he didn’t like at all. He’d already felt similar for a short while when he was still recovering from the aftermaths of the battle, but he couldn’t afford any such doubts in the qualities of his Warchief. He was right! He couldn’t simply start to scrutinize every order from the Banshee Queen. To follow the orders from their leader without examination had been a crucial point in keeping them alive during their fighting against the Burning Legion and to carry out Master Illidan’s plans with success.

Their argument more or less repeated itself based on the same crux some weeks later, after the Warchief had announced her plans to them to use Derek Proudmoore against his family. In the end, Acharin relinquished his hopes to convince Levaindil of his point of view. He would simply have to live with the fact that this was a matter between them they couldn’t agree on. After all, it wasn’t as if he and the other Illidari were unused to working under a leader that was often regarded as crazy and harshly criticized for his methods.

Some days later on his way back from daily duties in Tiragarde Sound, Acharin was just selling some of the items he didn’t need but had picked up along the way to a trader in Plunder Harbor when he heard an unexpected, deep voice from outside the shack he stood in.   
Curious, he used his Spectral Sight just in time to notice Valeera Sanguinar stepping out of the shadows across from Baine Bloodhoof. What was that slippery self-proclaimed independent rogue up to with the High Chieftain?   
They started to talk about a female someone they wanted to meet in Theramore, who could only be Jaina Proudmoore. But why would a high ranking leader of the Horde want to meet someone of the Alliance – secretly?   
Acharin forgot about that question for a brief moment when suddenly another figure he knew all too well joined the meeting. He didn’t pay much attention to the amount of coins the impatient trader offered him and simply accepted before carefully stepping outside without risking to draw the attention of the three people now gathered behind the hut. His heart was suddenly pounding like mad. What dealings did Levaindil have with the other two?   
His hopes got shattered while he carefully continued his eavesdropping; apparently Baine planned to abduct Derek Proudmoore and to hand him over to Jaina. Valeera would arrange the meeting with the member of the opposite leadership and Levaindil had just given her consent to help Baine getting to Derek.   
Agitated, he slipped out of sight and hastily teleported back to Dazar’alor. What was he supposed to do now? He felt slightly feverish all of a sudden. He didn’t want to get Levaindil into trouble, but he also had to warn his Warchief about Baine Bloodhoof’s treachery, didn’t he?   
To win himself some time to think, he slowly glided down towards the Port of Zandalar and the Banshee’s Wail on his own wings. Maybe he could do just that. Levaindil was definitely right with one aspect of her argument when she insisted that the Horde was nothing like the Illidari under Illidan Stormrage had been; in comparison to the leader of the demon hunters, Warchief Sylvanas was so far rather negligent with prohibiting movements that went against her command and lead to the falling apart of her subordinates. In this respect, it wasn’t Levaindil’s fault that she had more or less been allowed to choose the wrong faction, it was the Banshee Queen’s own mistake and therefore he also didn’t need to feel compelled to mention his friend’s involvement in the whole matter. If he got word to Sylvanas immediately, the Warchief would certainly act soon – before the huntress could be drawn deeper into the betrayal.   
Relieved by this smooth resolution of his moral dilemma, he landed aboard the warship and stepped besides Nathanos Blightcaller, who would be able to contact the Warchief swiftly.

As if to make up for Acharin’s – unvoiced – criticism scant two weeks earlier, Sylvanas Windrunner suddenly seemed to have reached the conclusion that she could no longer allow traitors to her plans to do as they pleased and she arrested Baine Bloodhoof after maneuvering him into publicly admitting to have had a hand in Derek Proudmoore’s escape back to the Alliance.   
Unfortunately, this also provoked the next argument between him and Levaindil in the late afternoon following the announcement.  
“She has no right to do this! None!”, she yelled and attracted some stares from the bystanders while they descended afoot from the great pyramid down towards the port, “He just did what had to be done. A great many people think what Sylvanas planned was going too far!”   
“Just because a great many people think the same, it doesn’t mean they are right”, he tried to argue, “If we want to reach our goals, we all have to pull together!”   
A pained expression crossed her face, “And what are our goals in your eyes?”   
“She is our Warchief; our goals are her goals”, he answered, though a moment of uncertainty made him hesitate, before he pushed the feeling away determinedly.   
She sighed upset, “No, they are not. And that’s the point. She is our leader, not our dictator. She needs to listen to the people!”   
“If you keep talking like that, you will only get yourself into trouble”, he growled, avoiding her eyes while moving further down the stone steps. And he wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep her from being penalized again.   
“Maybe”, she agreed lightly, which only spurred his anger, “But just think about it; what would you have done, if Kael’thas threatened to simply arrest you when you started to defect to Illidan’s side? Would you have just caved in?”   
“No”, he admitted, striving to remain calm, “But that was something completely different. The prince had lost sight of his…our true goals. The only thing he still wanted was power for himself at any cost instead of a cure for our people. What Illidan wanted simply coincided better with our initial goals in the end.”   
“And Baine’s and Saurfang’s goals coincide better with mine than those of Sylvanas do”, she explained and darted a stern glance at him over her shoulder while she overtook him.   
He halted, still some steps above her. “Their goals. And what are those? Instead of working to finally defeat the Alliance they’ve started working with the enemy and counteracting everything our Warchief and the Horde has fought for simply because they don’t agree with some of her methods. Of course she has to stop them in that case! Why can’t you see that?”   
She only turned halfway back towards him. “The Alliance isn’t the Burning Legion. But that’s something you simply don’t want to understand.”   
He didn’t react to her stab and she gave off a frustrated snort. “I need a drink. You know where to find me if you want to join up later.” With that, she continued her path towards the Grand Bazaar alone.

He didn’t join up with her later, not because he was still mad at her, but because some minutes after her departure, while he was still collecting his thoughts sitting on the stone steps of the long stairs connecting the lower port with the main pyramid of Dazar’alor, he received a message by courier that Nathanos requested an urgent meeting with him and some other champions.   
Following the summons it turned out that he and the others were to depart immediately tomorrow morning to Nazjatar, to take up the fight against Azshara. After the Battle of Dazar’alor and the death of God King Rastakhan, the naga Queen had used this moment of weakness on the side of both factions to make her own move. Now a considerable part of their forces had been abducted to Nazjatar and had been taken hostage, though the goals of Queen Azshara were rather incomprehensible.  
The meeting had ended quite late into the night and therefore he only saw Levaindil again early in the next morning when he went looking for her to say goodbye. Their farewell proceeded on amicable terms, another thing he appreciated between them: even though they had their dissensions, neither of them stayed resentful for long and they still appreciated and respected each other. The only thing that gnawed on him after their departure was his strong assumption that the huntress wouldn’t simply stop with her revolutionary acts against the Warchief. He could only hope she knew when she was about to cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed easily.

Nazjatar was a very peculiar place, filled with the smell of salt and seaweed. Although usually below sea level, the whole zone was now largely free of any water, completely enclosed by a huge impervious waterfall. In the center lay the Eternal Palace, where Queen Azshara was entrenched behind rows on rows of naga defenders.   
Fairly soon they also discovered that the naga had gained the alliance of Priscilla Ashvane, a Kul Tiran human specialized in Azerite weapons. Only through a temporary collaboration with the Alliance initiated by Regent Lord Lor’themar Theron and First Arcanist Thalyssra, that was grudgingly tolerated by Acharin and the other Sylvanas’ Loyalists since it actually was the best way to fulfill their mission from the Warchief in the fastest way possible, they were finally after several weeks able to achieve a breakthrough and gain entrance to the Palace.  
After they had accessed the royal seat of the naga Queen, Acharin and his combatants still had to fight through hordes of naga and six extraordinarily strong enemies until they finally reached the Circle of Stars, the heart of the Palace and apparently a long forgotten titan facility. Here at last – after an additional encounter with a nasty aberration twisted by the Void – they were able to confront Azshara herself, who proved not to be as invincible as she’d thought herself to be and was struck down. Just before her downfall however, she succeeded in activating the strange titan mechanism and a black, whispering fog emerged, taking with it the body of the Queen into the now exposed abyss below the Palace.   
Unsure about what all this implied, Acharin and the others weren’t immediately ordered to return to Zandalar but instead remained to observe the situation and to clear out the still lingering remaining naga forces. Only when the situation was fully contained and all the people that had been held hostage in Nazjatar were evacuated, they themselves made their return to Dazar’alor.

As soon as Acharin and his roughly fifteen Illidari companions emerged from the Hall of Ancient Paths into the Great Seal, they were cornered by a group of wary guards notoriously loyal to Saurfang. A female orc proved braver than the rest and addressed them:   
“You guys, we know you belong to those that showed often enough that you’re on the side of the Banshee Queen. We’ve just a well-meant warning for you – don’t play up and we will leave you alone, but Sylvanas’ leadership has come to an end. She left the Horde this afternoon once and for all!”   
Suddenly dazed, Acharin incidentally noticed the incredulous reactions all around him, while his gaze frantically searched the faces of the bystanders for any clue that this was simply a bad hoax… a really bad hoax. But there was none.  
At once all the doubts that had accumulated themselves over most of the past year, that had been stimulated in the arguments with Levaindil time and again and that he’d suppressed so far crushed into him. Sylvanas was gone. They were simply abandoned – once more. Acharin felt dumbfounded. As if the rug was pulled out from under him… and he could only watch in horror as suddenly his body transformed into its demon form and lunged out.   
Distantly he noticed that he wasn’t the only Illidari that was confronted with the same problem, but that was no real saving grace in the current situation. Desperately he tried to regain control over his demonic powers or to at least stop himself from harming any innocents, but he was still too shocked to find the willpower to overwhelm his inner demon.  
All of this had happened within seconds and thankfully his two friends who had been standing next to him weren’t as stunned as he.   
It was Rael’nar that reacted first and attacked the younger Illidari. Acharin could feel the blows to his main fighting arm and leg, sending waves of anguish through him, but incapacitating him efficiently. The injury didn’t only send his body to the floor, but also weakened the demon severely.   
It was also Rael’nar that stopped a potential killing blow from one of the guards while Acharin was tormented by the cramps accompanying his unusually sluggish transformation back and struggled to get the words of submission across the lips that once more seemed to obey him.   
Lying in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood and still surrounded by chaos and fighting, Acharin missed what happened next as darkness rolled over him.

When Acharin opened his eyes the next time, he instantly knew that he was dreaming, or something similar to it. There was rocky floor beneath him, gouged by sharp edges and the air was almost too hot to breathe. He was wearing nothing more than shackles around his wrists and ankles which continued in sturdy chains behind him and connected him to the equally bound demon that now responded to his gaze with a furious hiss.   
He only had a moment to notice the deep chasm filled with deadly fel-magma between him and the demon, before the beast strained against its chains and in doing so yanked him backwards several feet towards the drop until he could find some purchase on the ground. Thankfully the pulling stopped the moment his resistance started, because Acharin wasn’t sure he would have been able to withstand it for long, but obviously the demon was as exhausted as he and not too eager to challenge him – yet.   
Out of habit he started to call out the verses that he usually used to subdue his inner demon, but it didn’t take long until a cough attack caused by the fel-vapors around him brought his efforts to an end. Simply lying there, mindless of the sharp rocks poking his skin and panting for breath, Acharin remembered what had happened, while his surroundings flickered in and out of focus; in one moment the empty plain with only the chasm and the demon behind him, then once more a small room with bars and a purple magical sphere around it.   
A banishing sphere, Acharin realized remotely. So, Sylvanas had left the Horde – why, he still couldn’t understand in the slightest – and he had lost control. Another thing he didn’t quite understand. The whole time while they had fought the naga in Nazjatar and in the Eternal Palace beside the Alliance he – to his own surprise – hadn’t had any problems with the Metamorphosis. Why now?   
The thought vanished from his mind as only the slight rattling of chains warned him to brace himself against another attempt of the demon to drag him over the edge. Barely he managed to keep clinging to the crack in the rock that gave him an advantage to hold his ground.

Only some time after the pulling had stopped once more did Acharin dare to relax a little, feeling sweat and blood running down his skin. If he was honest with himself, he had probably had doubts about the Warchief from the start, or at least since the Battle for Lordaeron, and that had also been the cause of the problems with his demonic powers. Deep down he’d started to suspect that maybe they weren’t doing the right thing, following the wrong leader, were kept in the dark regarding her true goals, whatever those might be. He missed Illidan dearly. With him at the head of the Illidari, everything had been so easy, they’d had one clear aim for all their undertakings and even though Illidan hadn’t always told them his exact plans from the start, he’d never lied to them or thrown away their lives carelessly. And then he’d simply abandoned them, just like Sylvanas had done now.   
This time the jolt of the chains took him by surprise and he skidded another length towards the fel-magma before he could catch the next furrow in the floor, ripping open the skin of his palms in the process. Resisting the pull from behind with his now slippery grasp wasn’t any easier, and he felt the rest of his strength dwindle faster and faster. Why was he even still resisting?   
A sardonic laugh gripped Acharin for a moment after the demon stopped its efforts this time. Everyone would get what they desired if he would just let go. His pain would stop. The demon would get his freedom – at least for a short while. And the people who thought of the Illidari as the last remnant of the Burning Legion would see another detested demon vanish from their midst. That banishing sphere would prevent his demon from harming anyone until they could send it back to the Twisting Nether.

Just at that moment, he suddenly heard a familiar voice and his surroundings flickered once more, showing him a glimpse of the world outside of his delirious fever dream. His lovely, braided huntress had actually come to see him despite him turning into a monster attacking everyone in sight. And now she was right beside him and therefore inside the banishing sphere.   
With a silent curse he reinforced his grip on the rocks. It looked like her kindness damned him to hang in a while longer, at least until she was out of harms way. He started to once again quietly recite the mantra every demon hunter learned with their initiation, that was supposed to help them control their demonic powers in times of stress. This time it was the demon on the other side of the chasm that started to scream in pain.

She simply did not leave! At some point, Acharin didn’t have the strength anymore to keep track of how often he’d repeated the verses or how long the breaks in between the demons increasingly feeble straining against their chains grew.   
His surroundings still flickered from time to time between the small room with the huntress and the rocky plain with the demon, but all of a sudden there was a third scenario without chains or pain, where he was simply lying in cool grasses underneath the gold-red leafed trees of Quel’Thalas and where he finally allowed himself to rest.

This time, when he woke, there were neither rocks nor grasses in sight, but instead an agitated Levaindil rushing to his side. Her cheerfulness was lost on him though, since he still felt absolutely whacked.   
It took him a moment to get the words across his dry and cracked lips. “You shouldn’t have stayed here”, he whispered, lacking the strength to put more effort into his voice, “It would have killed you, if it broke free, and....” He couldn’t let that happen to her even though he’d wanted his struggle to end, he completed the sentence in his mind, not up to say it out aloud in front of her.   
She on the other hand interpreted his words rather differently. All in all he couldn’t share her confidence into the future. Since Illidan’s parting, he missed a suitable leader. His life seemed meaningless, pointless. The Sunwell had been restored, rendering the search for a cure unnecessary and the Burning Legion was defeated. He kept explaining his concerns to Levaindil and she seemed to take them seriously, but he had some difficulties to follow her assertions not least because he was still completely drained from his ordeal but wasn’t able to find some lasting rest this night.   
At some point she fell asleep with her head on his mattress. To survey her sleeping features had a strangely calming effect on him and the heaviness that had dazed his thoughts lifted slightly. He still couldn’t quite agree with her argument that he was still needed as some sort of protector for this world; whatever dangers were left now couldn’t be fought as straightforwardly as the Burning Legion. They were more subtle, much harder to identify and to decide how to react to them seemed a complete riddle to him. He wasn’t suited for such a task.

The sunlight fell through the narrow windows on the corridor outside of his cell when Acharin eventually noticed an old white-haired orc verge on him and Levaindil, gently waking her and whispering something to her before leaving again.   
“I’ll be back in a spell”, she ensured him lightheartedly, while stretching her limbs.

When she returned, she looked very serious though. “I’m so incredibly sorry”, she apologized, “I must leave. Valeera Sanguinar just informed me that Magni and Wrathion – imagine, he’s back! – request my immediate attendance in the Chamber of the Heart! It sounded really dire and I’m afraid I have no idea how long this will take.”   
“There is no need for you to feel bad about it”, he tried to put her at ease.   
“Yes there is. You aren’t well, I should stay with you”, she gingerly pulled her braid, “At least Drontash Felhand will keep you company. That’s the old orc. He’s a really nice warlock.”   
“Neither he nor you can mend my body, so there is no reason for you to waste your time here”, he told her somberly.   
She seemed on the verge of contradicting him, when her searching look on him grew soft instead and she squatted beside him once more. “Just promise me to think again on what we talked about last night. Simply because Sylvanas and her plans – whatever they were – are gone, that’s no reason to lose all hope in the future. The Alliance was never like the Burning Legion. Alliance and Horde are more like… you and me. We fight each other from time to time, but in the end, we want the same. Well, okay”, she shook her head, “Alliance and Horde are mostly fighting contrary to us, but all I want to say is that we all are only people – not monsters that solely strive to destroy – we all simply want to live our lives on this wonderful planet.”   
She paused for a moment, waiting for a reaction from him he was hesitant to give. “You simply need to become your own leader. It may be hard in the beginning, but I’m convinced that you can do it. I know you well enough by now to say at least that. You are a smart elf and deep down you know what’s right!”   
Her kind words moved him and he felt something wet trickle down the side of his face, but what she suggested also frightened him far more then she could anticipate. The prospect of having to make his own decisions regarding not only his aim in life but through it for the weal of a whole world for the rest of his – probably eternal – existence scared him even more at this moment than her gentle hand touching his cheek and the glimpses of novel possibilities that were linked to it. He wasn’t able to stop himself from reaching out to it like someone drowning would snatch a life saving rope suddenly dangling in front of his face.   
Flustered by his own reaction he avoided her eye and cleared his throat, “I’ll think on it”, he pledged, trying a smile, “And now go”, he forced himself to release her hand, “At least one of us still has to save this world.”

After Levaindil finally left, he still couldn’t bring himself to do anything else than lying more or less sleeplessly on his pallets. He felt remotely hungry and he knew he needed to eat – and sleep – to recover, but somehow not even the faint cravings were enough to shake him out of his lethargy. From time to time he absently noticed the warlock – Drontash? – move about at the edge of his normal vision, but his attention was mostly occupied by his thoughts that turned around in circles.   
She’d been right with what she said in the past night; the main reason for his loyalty to Sylvanas had been that her leadership and plans neatly followed after Illidan had so suddenly abandoned them. Sure, the goals the night elf had pursued with them had been achieved, but he still could have… pointed them in some direction instead of simply walking out on them. To simply continue with Sylvanas’ schemes was inapplicable too though, since that was another point Levaindil had been right about; the Dark Lady’s intentions seemed by now to point into the direct opposite of what he and the Illidari had fought for under Lord Illidan. She’d lied to them and used them; neither of these qualities he looked for in a leader. But he still wasn’t confident in his capabilities to make his own decisions. He’d never ever had to! Not under Sylvanas, not under Illidan, not under Kael'thas and most definitely not under his father. But in the end, each one of them had disappointed him in one way or another through abandonment, through the loss of conviction or through the complete disregard of his own wishes. Maybe it was time to stop simply following others.

Suddenly his nose caught a delicious scent that even penetrated his thoughts. He swiftly identified the source of it; the warlock had taken up his position on the chair at the entrance of the cell once more and had just slit the throat of a fel-imp he must have summoned.   
“Ah, that finally got your attention”, the grandfatherly orc commented pleased with himself, “So, you aren’t actually not hungry, you just didn’t want to eat before. You know, it would break your kind girlfriend’s heart if I would simply let you dwindle while she’s gone.”   
The green blood dripping down the knife blade, which the orc still held in his hand, had quite a transfixing effect on Acharin and he had to lick his lips. What the warlock just said still caught his attention though, “Why… why do you call her that?”   
The warlock stared at him for a moment and then laughed. “Boy, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. I mean, I know that you demon hunters are technically blind, but I thought you could still see well enough with your Spectral Sight.”   
Acharin blushed, partly because of the warlocks indication and party because he wasn’t used to being the center of such amusement. Boy. If he remembered correctly, orcs usually reached a life span of eighty to ninety years, which made him a good deal older than the warlock. But relatively speaking… somehow the wrinkled, white-haired creature still seemed to have a right to currently address him that way.   
The orc must have noticed his embarrassment, because he now shrugged. “Well, it’s none of my business.”   
Relieved, Acharin let his gaze wander back to the source of the aroma, something the orc didn’t miss.   
“Yes, this on the other hand”, he held up the carcass of the imp, “My little Pipnam really doesn’t like it when I do that. I’m definitely going to hear something about it the next time I summon him, especially if it was in vain. So, would you mind taking a bite?”   
Encouraged by the meanwhile noticeable hollowness of his stomach, Acharin shook his head and tried to get up; with only mixed success.   
“Let me help you, Acharin – was it?” The old orc actually had to assist him to get into a sitting position.   
“Thank you… Drontash.” He accepted the imp leg he got offered and had to keep himself from simply sinking his teeth into it. Instead, he carefully tore off small bits of flesh with his fingers. It was probably smarter anyways to start off slowly and not just to avoid spooking the orc with a lack of table manners.

When he reached for a second helping the old warlock – to his puzzlement – practically beamed at him happily.   
“Just tell me if you need something else. I’ll try my best to get it for you.”   
Acharin, still irritated, declined thankfully and thoughtfully mustered the orc, “How is it that you are so kind to me?” It was a bit too much to be simply out of some kind of obligation to Levaindil.   
Drontash returned his look earnestly. “Not long ago, warlocks were as shunned by others as you demon hunters are now. Thanks to you and your kin we slipped out of focus, but we haven’t forgotten how it felt to be frowned upon”, he explained and added: “Besides, I know that a little kindness from others can help a lot when you are feeling down.”   
Acharin smiled, which didn’t even cost him much effort this time. “I feel honored to get to know you. And thanks a lot for the meal, it really helped.”   
“You’re welcome”, a professional curiosity appeared in the warlocks face, “Come to think of it, I already wondered a few times why it’s not more common for you demon hunters to ask one of us to summon some demon prey for you.”   
That was easy to explain. “We don’t really like having to rely on others”, Acharin admitted. “Aboard the Fel Hammer we have the tools to summon quite powerful demons ourselves. And tastier ones – no offense!”   
“None taken”, the orc chuckled, “But can’t that get dangerous?”   
“That’s why we always work in groups. It’s forbidden to go alone – and in the end, it’s more fun to fight and to eat with your comrades.”   
“I see, that’s relatable.”

Soon after this, Acharin had all of a sudden been overcome by his tiredness and the old warlock had left him to rest, after the Illidari had promised him gladly to answer a few more questions sometime in the future.   
A deep, restorative sleep had embraced him and when he opened his eyes the next time, the sun already stood high in the sky once more. He immediately noticed the absence of the purple sphere around his accommodation, a fact that made him slightly nervous at first, but then he decided that the precaution indeed wasn’t necessary anymore. He wouldn’t let his inner demon get the better of him again. Levaindil had been right, he needed to give the thing with being-his-own-leader a go, and surely she would be willing to help him out in the beginning… and if the warlock was actually right, maybe they could even find some mutual goals, although that thought sent another, different nervous ripple though his stomach. He was going to ask her about it as soon as she returned from her mission.

The next visitor he received though – aside from Drontash – was a goblin, who popped up out of nowhere in the early afternoon.   
“Tut-tut! That warlock has grown careless! He should have kept that sphere up, if he just wanders off like that and leaves you unchecked”, the figure sneered without an introduction.   
“I’m not here to be… checked”, Acharin growled on guard, “What do you want from me?”   
“A shame. I really think half-demons like you should be locked behind bars – especially if they tend to… go wild.” The goblin skillfully spun a dagger around in one hand.   
Acharin didn’t fall for the provocation, instead he began: “If you’ve only come here to insult me….”   
“Oh no. I actually have news that should be interesting to you.”   
“Do you now?”   
“Indeed. There was a meeting this morning in Orgrimmar. Looks like you aren’t the only demon hunter that had a problem with Sylvanas’ leaving. A surprisingly big group of your kind seems smart enough to realize that they actually are better off locked in cages instead of running free or after that crazy banshee. They’ve asked others to join them this afternoon to go back to the Vault of the Wardens”, the rogue snickered, “I though you’d maybe want to join your friends. You probably have to hurry to catch up with them, though. That’s all.”   
With that, the small figure disappeared in a plume of smoke. Acharin had no trouble to follow its path out of the dungeons with his Spectral Sight. Why the goblin had even used his Vanish was a mystery to Acharin, but after his disrespectful words he’d probably felt as if he had to escape a fight. Despicable creature. The content of its filthy words on the other hand ….

He didn’t like much that it probably looked as if he did exactly what the goblin had hoped for, but few minutes later Acharin himself hurried out of the dungeons – as expected unhindered by the Enforcers – and up the stairs towards the portals to the capitals.   
He’d considered it for an instant but then dropped the suspicion that the whole story was just a malicious joke by the goblin. With all he knew of his friends and the other Illidari, he judged it more than plausible that – with all that had happened the last days – at least some of them could reach such a decision. Even before his loss of control he’d sometimes mused whether it hadn’t been better if they’d all stayed with Illidan, and the option with the Vault of the Wardens wasn’t so far off from the one with the Seat of the Pantheon. But what his friends didn’t have was someone like Levaindil, that could offer another point of view to their way of thinking.

By the skin of his teeth he managed to catch up with the delegation of Illidari that had already started out towards Azsuna not far from the entrance to the Vault of the Wardens. His two friends were also part of the group and much relieved to see him alive. Shanara even apologized for the fact that they hadn’t come to visit him and admitted that she herself had started to worry that she might loose control over her powers and had needed time by herself to think.   
At that point he summarized the results of his – and Levaindil’s – own thinking, offering them a third option besides betraying the Horde to search for Sylvanas or the euphemistic suicide the Warden Crystal equaled in the end. Rael’nar and Shanara were easily persuaded and afterwards joined him in his efforts to convince the other demon hunters of the group. Obviously he wasn’t the only Illidari who had – between all their fighting – lost track of their major goal and that they weren’t simply doing this to defeat the Burning Legion but to save Azeroth, as well as countless other worlds.   
After several hours of discussions, a large part of the original group decided to return to Orgrimmar, while some still wanted to continue their journey. Both factions respected the other’s decision and made no move to stop them, instead making their farewells before Acharin and the others set out to the nearest flight point that would bring them to Dalaran with its portal to Orgrimmar.

Acharin was rather relieved when Krasus’ Landing finally came into view. The long flight seemed to have given his lingering exhaustion enough time to catch up with him. When he’d more or less run out of the Royal Armory this afternoon, he had almost felt like a new elf, but now that judgment seemed extremely premature and he really wished for a place to rest.   
Rest would have to wait a little longer though, since there were some tasks at hand that couldn’t be postponed; like putting the War Council at ease over the fact that not all of them were slumbering in Warden Crystal by now and that their allegiance would henceforth lie with the Horde and the weal of Azeroth.   
When this was settled, there would be time enough to tend to the aches of his still not completely healed wounds. Maybe even some days of leisure could be risked, until – as he’d been told by now – an Old God had to be driven back into the Void where he belonged. Acharin was curious what Levaindil had learned in this regard by now… and – especially after what the old orc had said – more than eager to talk to her in general.

What Acharin hadn’t expected at all was her practically flying into his direction as soon as he stepped out of the portal in the orc capital.   
The expression on her face spoke volumes and a pang of remorse hit him, realizing his disappearance since the last time they’d spoken must have worried her horribly. He should have left a note, stating his intentions.   
His regret was drowned out by a torrent of other feelings though, as soon as her arms closed around his chest. To envelop her graceful frame with his arms came natural without him having to think twice. The amused jests of the other demon hunters only added to his emotional turmoil and made him say something rather different than he’d intended to, but to his relief she seemed to get his meaning nevertheless.   
Positively overwhelmed by her reaction, he lost himself in their embrace, simply savoring the moment.

* * *

**Shadowlands teaser:**

  * How will Acharin react when he meets again with his former leader Kael’thas Sunstrider, who will make his appearance somewhere in Revendreth, the home of the Venthyr Covenant in the Shadowlands?
  * If directly confronted with the demon soul within him, will Acharin succeed in simply suppressing it once more or will he need to find another way to overcome this (self-)destructive part of himself?



**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed his view of the events!
> 
> Spoiler alert: With the next biographie we will move a little further from red to blue, since there are usually even more than "Two Sides to Every Tale". ;)


End file.
